


don't leave my hyper heart alone

by annemari



Category: One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: Crying, M/M, Relationship Negotiation, Sharing Clothes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-17
Updated: 2014-06-17
Packaged: 2018-02-05 02:34:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1802179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annemari/pseuds/annemari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"My jumper!" Nick says. "You absolute thief, it was you? I've been trying to find it for ages!"</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>"Oh," Harry says, and looks down, fingers brushing over the jumper. "Yeah, it's nice."</i>
</p>
<p>The one where Harry comes back home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	don't leave my hyper heart alone

**Author's Note:**

> Originally started because of the prompt "clothes sharing" from **eloiserummaging**. It became a bit more than that. Thank you so much to my wonderful betas, **eloiserummaging** and **la_dissonance**. This story would be weaker without them. Title from "Sorrow" by The National.

Nick can't find any of his clothes. Literally. Well, not literally, but close.

It's just. Usually he'd leave it and find something else, and god knows he has _enough_ jackets lying around. But tonight he's on a mission. It's a boring night, the telly is shit, he's had a couple of glasses of wine. He's going to sort out his clothes.

He gets sick of the actual sorting part soon enough, but while he's doing that he keeps remembering clothes he's _sure_ he's owned that are just not here anymore. Lost. Forgotten somewhere in a club? _Stolen?_ Could be any of those, really.

He's currently trying to find an old comfy jumper. He might have left it up north, but it doesn't seem likely. He loves that jumper. He can't remember the last time he saw it, but he definitely loves it. It's grey and has really long sleeves and it's big enough that he doesn't feel like it's stifling him, and it still makes his silhouette look _great_. Perfect jumper, really. Lost. Absolutely, completely lost.

He gets a text while he's rooting through one of his forgotten drawers. He drags himself across the floor to where he left his phone and thumbs it open.

_Heyyyy, are you home? Can I come over? X_

Harry. Nick grins at his phone. He hasn't seen Harry yet, even though he's been back in London for a few days now.

_Sure!_ he says. _Bring wine, I'm out! Wait. On second thought maybe don't bring more_

_Got it x_

_Really you don't have to. I think I'm covered for tonight lol_

Harry doesn't reply, so Nick sets his phone down and gets back to looking for his jumper. He finds shoes he's forgotten about and really old jeans that he's half tempted to try on. He's too lazy to deal with it at the moment, though, and next thing he knows he finds himself back on the sofa, TV left on something pointless, phone in hand. He's refreshing his Twitter for the millionth time when his doorbell finally rings.

"Hey," Harry says, smiling up at Nick, hair dripping wet. Nick hadn't even noticed it'd started pouring down. He pulls Harry into a hug immediately, even though his coat is damp and it gets Nick's shirt all wet too. It's been _way_ too long. Nick's a tiny bit tipsy. He's allowed to be soppier than usual.

Harry clings back and Nick drags him inside, away from the cold London air. "Hey," he says happily. "You okay? Cold? How is your hair so wet, did you walk here or something? Where's your hat?"

"Yeah, good," Harry says, which isn't a proper answer, really. "You?"

"Great," Nick says. "I'm glad you came over. I was proper bored. Not that that's why I'm glad you're here, obviously."

Harry pushes his hair back from his face and shrugs. "I got wine?" he offers.

"I told you you didn't have to," Nick says, accepting the bottle.

Harry shrugs again. "It's fine." It seems like he wants to say something else, but thinks better at the last moment. Interesting.

"Thanks," Nick smiles. "I think I just misplaced mine."

"You mean you drank it all?"

"No!" Nick says. "I had, like, two glasses. Promise."

Harry gives Nick a small smile. "All right."

"Thanks, still," Nick says, and starts heading toward the kitchen. "Do you want anything? Tea? Uh, wine?" He grins back at Harry.

"Maybe," Harry allows. "Maybe wine, yeah."

"I'm on it," Nick announces and starts rooting through his cupboards.

Harry's awkwardly hovering near the door, coat still on. Nick frowns at him. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing?" Harry asks.

"Get your coat off," Nick says. "And the boots, god. Sit down."

Harry smiles. "Bossy."

"So bossy," Nick says. "Go on."

Harry grins wider and starts shrugging off his coat. Nick turns around again and stares at the kitchen counter. Right. Drinks. Snacks? Is he hungry? He's probably hungry.

"Are you hungry?" he asks.

"What?" Harry calls from the hall.

"Hungry," Nick says, raising his voice. "Do you want food?"

"Um, maybe," Harry says, walking back into the kitchen. "I can get it myself?" 

Nick turns to tell him he's got it, and then stops and stares. "You."

"Me?"

"My jumper!" Nick says. "You absolute thief, it was you? I've been trying to find it for ages!" Well, ages tonight ages. Still.

"Oh," Harry says, and looks down, fingers brushing over the jumper. "Yeah, it's nice."

"It's mine," Nick says.

"O-oh," Harry says, seeming unsure now. "You—do you want it back?"

"Just thought I'd lost it." He pauses and smiles, shaking his head. "I should have known it was you."

"Yeah," Harry says slowly. "Suppose so."

Nick frowns. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah," Harry says again. "Why?" He's fidgeting, just a bit, twisting his fingers together. His hair's still wet and Nick wants to go and get him a towel or something, but he also wants to know what's going on.

He leaves the wine and gets the kettle out instead. "Okay," he says. "So, I'm going to make tea, right. And you're going to tell me what's wrong."

"Nothing's _wrong_ ," Harry stresses.

"Well, whatever's bothering you, then," Nick says. 

Harry doesn't say anything to that. Nick sets the kettle to boil and gets out the tea and the mugs. He leaves them on the counter for now and turns towards Harry.

"Go on, then," he says gently. "Out with it."

Harry shrugs. "Don't know what you're talking about."

"You do," Nick says. "Don't think I didn't see it. You came here all ready to talk and now you won't even look me in the eye. It's fine, you know? Whatever it is."

"Is it," Harry says tonelessly. Nick's not sure what he did to throw Harry off his course, but he can _tell_ something's bothering Harry, so he's ready to try anything to get him back on it. It shouldn't be that hard, really. Just keep pushing. Gently. Nick thinks himself pretty good at it, thank you very much.

"Harry," he says. "Harold. What is it, then?"

Harry pulls a face. "Nicholas."

"Harold," Nick repeats. He laughs quietly. "Seriously, just tell me. You can tell me. It'll be alright."

Nick's not expecting the look Harry gives him then, eyes wide and—sad? Desperate? "Harry?"

"Will it?" Harry asks.

"Will what?"

"Will it be alright?" Harry asks. His face is set, and suddenly Nick _knows_. He knows what Harry came here to say.

"Harry."

Harry's face crumples, just a bit, before he quickly looks away. "See," he says. "You can't promise that."

"Okay," Nick says, thinking as quickly as he can manage. He's still not as sober as he should probably be for this discussion, but he's getting there, if Harry will give him a minute. "Let's just—sit down or something."

"It's fine," Harry says. "Maybe I'll just go. Let you rest. We can talk later."

Nick has _so_ lost track of this conversation. He didn't know they were having this conversation.

He swallows hard. "But you haven't told me what you wanted to say."

Harry sighs. "It's fine. It can wait."

"Can it?" Nick asks. "You came over in the middle of the night."

"It's not that late," Harry says.

"It's almost one," Nick points out. He's not sure how it got to be that late either, didn't notice, but that's where they're at.

"Oh," Harry says, looking confused now. "I didn't realise. I'm sorry."

" _Harry_ ," Nick says. "Stop it. Let's just talk, okay?"

"I didn't mean to come over so late," Harry says. "I was just thinking and then I texted you and you said okay so I came and I didn't think it was this late, sorry."

"It's fine," Nick says. "It's a Saturday, no one cares how late it is. Stop changing the subject."

Harry closes his eyes and breathes in deep. "You know what I'm going to say." His voice is quiet. Slightly sad. Nick wants to punch anyone who makes Harry sound like that in the face, but apparently, in this case, it's him.

"I might do," he says. "But that's not really the point, is it? And I might be completely wrong. Wouldn't be the first time it happened, right?"

Harry looks down at that, fists his hands in his jumper. He's going to stretch it out; Nick doesn't care at all. He wants to pull Harry in for a hug and hold him until he feels like he doesn't have to hide anything from Nick.

Nick knows it's partly his fault, for saying no the first time, even though it was the right call then. The second time, though, the second time it was Harry who left, just _left_ and didn't call or text. Nick didn't expect them to be here again, but maybe it was an inevitability. It feels like they're back to the start, but Harry's nothing like he was, back when he was overexcited and eager and begging Nick to fuck him, to be with him, slightly drunk and so young.

"Harry," Nick says gently.

"You're going to say no," Harry says quietly.

Nick's chest aches. "Harry. You're the one who left."

"I know," Harry says. "But I'm here now, Nick. I want this. If—if you do."

Nick sighs. "Harold."

"Nick, please. We deserve a chance, right?"

Nick runs a hand over his face. He's tried to put it out of his mind, but he's wanted to hear this, has wanted it for a while now. But Harry's never going to be here as long as the band is still big, and even though he's asking for this right now, Nick really doubts he's ready for a long-term relationship, especially a long-distance one. He's so young. Nick always forgets, because Harry's not a regular twenty year old, but he's so, so young.

"Nick," Harry says. "Please. I'm here, okay."

"How long?" Nick asks. "You have more shows soon, I know."

"Only a couple of weeks. And then we're having a long break, months, even."

"Which you'll spend in LA," Nick says, raising his eyebrows.

"No," Harry says, and he sounds lost and so, so hopeful. "No, I won't, I'm going to be here, Nick. I'll be here in London."

"And you'll have press," Nick says. "For the new album, and then there'll be another tour and don't you see, Harry, it won't stop. Not for a while."

He tries to say it as gently as possible, but Harry's face still crumples.

"The others do it," he says, close to tears. "They make it work, they do. Why can't we? Nick."

"Oh, love," Nick says, as Harry wipes at his eyes. "Please don't cry."

"I had this planned out," Harry says, sniffling. "I had a plan and a list of reasons why it would work and why it _could_ work, and you were going to say yes, you were going to say you wanted to do this with me. And I still couldn't imagine it, you know? I had a speech all worked out, and I thought I was going to be sick in the car over and I thought I was going to be sick in the store when I was getting the wine and when I was walking over, and I still couldn't _picture_ you saying yes."

Nick wants to kick something. He also wants to give Harry the biggest hug ever and make it all be okay. He can't do the second, but he holds out his arms, and beckons Harry to him.

Harry lets out a quiet sob and shuffles forward, letting Nick pull him in. He's tense for a second, trembling, but Nick buries his hand in Harry's damp hair and Harry rests his head on Nick's shoulder and clings.

"Hey," Nick says. "Just breathe, yeah? It's going to be fine."

Harry lets out another shaky sob. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I fucked up. I'm sorry I left."

"Oh, Haz," Nick says sadly. "You could never stay. Not really."

Harry clings tighter at that; Nick can feel him crying quietly. Nick feels terrible. He had no idea tonight would turn out like this.

"I want to," Harry says. "I want to stay. Please, Nick, let me stay."

"Darling," Nick says. "When have I ever sent you away?"

"I'm sorry," Harry says and pulls back to look at Nick. His face is wet and his hair makes him look so young and Nick can't do this.

"You don't have to keep apologising." He tries to say it gently, but his voice is rough and a bit creaky.

Harry inhales shakily. "But I'm sorry. I'm sorry I left, please, Nick, I won't leave again. I don't want to."

They keep going in circles. Nick shakes his head. "You have to, love. It's your job."

"But I'll come here," Harry says. "For every break. We have more time off after the tour in spring, or at least we'll be _here_ , we have a proper break, for _months_. I can be here. Please let me come back here."

Nick closes his eyes and takes in a deep breath. "You can always come here."

"I don't mean like that," Harry says. "I want to be with _you_. I want to be here all the time, I don't want to leave again. I want to come back _home_."

Nick should stop this. He should help Harry calm down and get him some tea and let him sleep on the sofa—or even send him off, but he can't do that, he can never make himself do that—and he should go and sleep in his own bed and tomorrow Harry would go and soon he'd get on a plane and leave properly and Nick would stay and they'd go back to the way things were. That's what he should do.

"Nick," Harry presses. "I want to be with you."

"You're leaving soon," Nick says.

"I'll come back," Harry says. "If you let me, I'll come back."

"Harold."

"And I'm not leaving until next week. It's only for a couple of weeks and I miss you all the time, Nick, I _miss_ you. I want to come back to you."

"And in the meantime?" Nick asks. "What happens when you're gone?"

"We'll Skype," Harry says. "Talk all the time. We can Skype every day. If you want to. I want to see you every day."

"Harry."

"I mean," Harry says, faltering now. "I mean, maybe you want to, like, do an open relationship thing, and I get that, I—I can do that. If you want to. Just, anything, Nick."

"If _I_ want to?" Nick asks. He knows Harry likes meeting new people and hooking up with them; he's gotten enough texts about it to last a fucking lifetime. Nick's not that different, except he prefers getting off with friends, because it's less work. The point is, if either of them would ask for an open relationship, he'd expect it to be Harry.

"Well," Harry says. "I mean, yeah? I can deal with that. I can."

Nick shakes his head. "So you don't want that for yourself?" he asks. "To keep hooking up with other people?"

"No," Harry says. "I don't know. I want _you_. I know that, Nick."

"Have you even thought about that?" Nick asks.

"I have," Harry says, sounding petulant. "I thought about everything, okay? I asked the lads for advice, and I thought about it, okay? I just—whatever you want. Whatever means you say yes."

"Oh, Harry," Nick says. "That's not really how it works, is it?"

Harry blinks fast, and Nick's terrified he's going to cry again. He touches Harry's cheek, brushing at the tear stains.

"That's not how relationships work," he says again. "And you can't _bargain_ for it."

"No, I know," Harry says. "I just mean, we can work it out. If—if you don't want to be with just me then I get that. I get if, like, I'm—if I'm not enough."

Nick's heart clenches. "It's not that," he says. "It's not that you're not enough, love, why would you ever think that? It's just that you're hardly ever _here_."

"I'm sorry," Harry says, looking devastated.

"Don't," Nick says. "Don't, it's not your fault. International popstar, remember? And you love it, don't you? I'd never ask for you to stop that. You love it."

"I love _you_ ," Harry chokes out. Nick pulls him close again and Harry hides his face against Nick's chest and cries. Nick rubs his back and tries not to tear up himself. Fuck, this is horrible.

"I love you, too," Nick says, because he does and it feels unfair to not say that. "Of course I love you."

Harry squeezes him tighter, clinging probably with all he's got. Nick just holds him, petting his hair. They stay like that for a while, just standing there in Nick's kitchen.

Eventually Nick tugs Harry over to the living room and pull him down on the sofa, cuddling him close. He's not always the biggest fan of cuddling, but he'll make an exception for Harry. He's always making exceptions for Harry.

"Sorry," Harry says finally, wiping at his eyes, and pulling away from Nick. Nick rests his hands on his knees, feeling awkward with the lack of contact. Harry's completely turned him inside out.

"What are you sorry for?"

"Coming here," Harry says. "Doing this to you. I know you don't—I'm sorry, it's like I'm forcing you or something, and I hate it and I'm really sorry, Nick. Didn't want to hurt you."

"You're not forcing anything on me," Nick says. "I just—I don't think it's the right time."

Harry pulls in a shaky breath. "When is it going to be?"

"I don't know."

"But other people make it work," Harry says. "You just have to want it enough."

"I don't think that's how it works, love," Nick says gently.

"Yeah," Harry says, sounding small. "I just—why can't it? Why can't that be how it works? I'll be here for months. I might be working, but I'll be _here_ and soon I might get people to fly out _here_ for me or I'll leave only for a couple of days and I'll come back home."

"Harry," Nick says, tired. He's not sure he can do this all over again right now. He doesn't _want_ to say no. He's never wanted to say no. He was ready to try last time, but Harry left and Nick got it, even though it hurt. Harry was the one who wasn't ready. Which Nick didn't expect, but there it was.

Harry's saying he's ready now. Nick's just not sure if that's enough any more. The distance gets to him, even now; it'd be worse in a proper relationship, probably.

"I just want to come home to you," Harry says quietly. "I don't want to hurt you."

"I know, love," Nick says. "I know."

"I really want to make it work," Harry says. "I can do that. I know I can. I won't leave again."

"You mean you won't run away again?" Nick asks. As long as they're talking about it. They never really did. Harry just came back to his life, slowly, as a friend, and they never talked about him leaving Nick behind. They probably should have. Nick should have pushed. He just didn't want to lose Harry. Fuck.

"Yeah," Harry says, looking down. "That."

"Yeah," Nick echoes. "That. God, it sucked, Harry. It really hurt."

"I'm sorry," Harry says quietly, voice torn. "I'm so—Nick."

Nick shakes his head. "I just—I'm scared, Harry. I'm scared, too." He's sort of terrified. It's probably not fair to let Harry think he's alone in that.

"I really have a plan, you know," Harry says, looking up. "A list. How I could make it work."

"How?" Nick asks.

Harry turns to face him, expression clearing a little. "I was going to stay here until I had to leave next week. I'd text you all the time when I was gone. Like, all the time. We'd Skype when we both have free time, maybe not every day if we can't manage it, but I want to do it every day. It would depend on timezones, of course, but the routine is more important for you, so I could move stuff around on my end or stay awake late, wake up early, stuff like that. And then as soon as this tour is over, I'd come back. And stay."

Nick hums. "And then repeat."

"Yeah," Harry says. "Just. People make it work. I know I can do it."

"It doesn't sound like a complicated plan," Nick says. He doesn't say that there's no way it's going to be that easy. It'd be a lot of work. Nick's up for it. God, he's up for it. If only just he'd believe that Harry was, too.

"It's just about communication," Harry says. "That's what everyone tells me. I was shit at it. I. I got scared. I'm sorry."

"Harry," Nick says, as seriously as he can. "You don't have to apologise for being scared."

"I'm not anymore," Harry says, shaking his head. "I figured it out. I did. I'm just scared you're going to say no. But, like, that doesn't mean you have to say yes."

Nick reaches out and touches his cheek, moves his fingers to Harry's hair and gently strokes his thumb over Harry's temple.

"I miss you so much," Harry says softly. "Miss you all the time, Nick."

"Same." Nick smiles sadly. "Is that what the jumper is for?"

Harry looks down at it. "I've had it so long," he says. "Sometimes I forget that it's yours. It just always makes me feel at home. Safe, I suppose."

Nick swallows hard. "Harry. You left."

"I'm so sorry," Harry says.

"How do I know you won't leave again?"

"I promise," Harry says. "I promise I won't. You trust me, right?"

"Course I do," Nick says roughly. He does, is the thing. He absolutely trusts that Harry is telling the truth. But what happens if Harry changes his mind? What if they do this, what if Nick lets himself go all in, fully committed relationship, not an inkling of doubt that Harry might leave, and then Harry does? What the fuck is he going to do then?

"I'll tell you," Harry says. "I'll tell you if I get scared again. But I'm not going to. I always trusted you, Nick. I believed in you, okay? I just got confused."

Nick sighs and covers his face with his hands. He wants to say yes. He wants to do that so bad. Not because Harry's sitting here on his sofa in the middle of the night, practically begging for a chance, his eyes all puffy and red.

It's because there's a part of him that would give _anything_ to keep Harry from leaving.

He always though that, even though it hurt, it was best to let Harry go, because he loved it. Harry loved being out there in the world, and Nick loved Harry, so it was, like, basic math, wasn't it? It didn't make it easier when Harry fucked off with no explanation, but Harry was young and Nick _got_ it. He got used to Harry popping in and leaving again after that; got used to being friends again and keeping in touch via text and the occasional call. He did it because he couldn't bear to lose Harry completely, and he thought Harry was happy, which was really fucking important to Nick.

And now Harry's begging for a chance to stay and Nick is so, so scared to hope again. To risk it. Risk getting hurt, risk losing Harry again. All of it. Shit. What if he can't do it?

"Nick," Harry says quietly. "You know—you know that you can say no, right? I'll understand. If you don't want me."

"Christ, Harold." Nick turns to Harry and holds his gaze. "It was never about me not wanting you. You know that, right?"

He can see Harry swallow, his throat working. "I know. I do, but I mean, now, Nick. I'll understand if you don't want me anymore."

"Idiot," Nick says. "So, what, you came here thinking I wouldn't want you back?"

Harry blinks. "No. I mean, I—I was hoping. That you still do. And I was going to prove to you that I can do this now. But, I mean, maybe you don't. And that's okay."

There are times—very few of them—where Nick has to struggle to read Harry. This isn't it. Harry says "okay" like it's the worst thing he could ever think of, even though he's trying desperately to hide it.

Christ. He was _crying_ earlier, clinging to Nick, and Nick knows, he knows pushing Harry away would kill him, but he could do it. He could do it to save them both further heartache, to keep it from blowing up in their faces in the future, a week from now, a month, a year. Whenever it gets to be too much and Harry leaves and Nick can't deal with waiting. He could say no.

He doesn't want to. _God_ , he doesn't want to.

"Nick?" Harry asks. "Should I go?"

Nick swallows hard. "No," he says, voice choked. He coughs to clear it. "No, Harold. Please don't."

Harry inhales sharply. "Nick?" His eyes are wide and hopeful, and Nick loves him so much it hurts.

"Come here," Nick says roughly, and Harry scrambles forward and catches Nick in a hug without waiting for anything more.

Nick holds him tight, one arm wrapped around his waist, other hand buried in his hair. Harry's almost trembling against him, fingers digging into Nick's back.

"Nick," he says, sounding desperate. "Nick, does this mean—are you—" He pulls back abruptly, captures Nick's face in his hands and meets his eyes. "Nick."

"It means 'don't go'," Nick tells him. "Fuck, Harry, it means I really, really want this to work out."

"And you're willing to try?" Harry asks, and his voice is shaking too. Nick thinks about how Harry was almost sick on his way here, wonders how scared he must have been. He wonders how much sleep he's gotten in the past few days, when's the last time he ate. Harry always makes him think about these things, brings out this side in Nick that _worries_. 

He knows Harry's great at what he does, always tells people that when they ask him if he gives Harry any advice. Harry doesn't need advice, he needs someone to listen to him, to be supportive. 

But he still needs someone to take care of him sometimes, and Nick really, really wants to be that person. He's not used to being that person, but for Harry, he'd be one ten times over. All he needs is for Harry to be here.

"Yes," Nick says. "If you are."

Harry lets out a whimper, leans forward, and kisses him.

It's a sweet kiss, Harry's lips tender against his. Nick expected it to be desperate, mirroring the way Harry was clinging to him earlier, but instead it's tentative.

Nick wraps his arms around Harry's waist and pulls him close, pressing a kiss to his cheek, another to his neck, and just _holding_ him. Harry lets out a shuddering breath and buries his face against Nick's shoulder. He's trembling.

"Sweetheart, why are you shaking?"

"I don't know," Harry says, choking on a laugh. "Adrenaline. Fuck."

Nick quickly touches his lips to Harry's forehead, frowning. "You sure you're not cold? You got all rained on."

"No, I'm fine," Harry says. "Swear."

"You're shivering," Nick points out.

"I know," Harry says. His teeth aren't chattering, at least, so Nick isn't overly worried. He rubs at Harry's arms instead, the sleeves soft under his touch. That stupid jumper.

"You sure we shouldn't get you out of this? Warm you up?"

Harry raises his eyebrows. "You trying to get me naked, Grimshaw?"

Nick rolls his eyes, but Harry's already grinning, the smile transforming his whole face. He looks young, carefree, and oh so lovely. Sometimes it hurts Nick to think about.

And he wants to be Nick's.

It's ridiculous, really, on some days. When Harry's far away, only visible through a computer screen, or when he's performing and suddenly Nick _remembers_ that to the world he's Harry Styles, pop sensation. It seems absurd then that he could even entertain the thought of being _with_ Harry, of getting to keep him.

But on every other day, Harry smiles at him, makes a stupid joke, acts like a giant dork, and he's just Harry. And Nick's absolutely gone for him.

"Nick?" Harry asks. The smile is gone from his face. Possibly Nick has been staring for too long.

"Hey," Nick says, voice slightly choked. "You're sure about this, right?"

Harry's eyes go wide. "What?"

"Because, I know you said you were. I think I just need to hear it one more time? Fuck. Sorry."

Something breaks in Harry's expression then and he leans forward to kiss Nick, mouth insistent. Nick opens up, clings to Harry's shoulders, kisses Harry back until it feels like his lips are bruised. God, he wants this so much.

"Harry," he says, finally pulling back. "Haz." They were always good at falling into bed together, snogging each other in bathrooms at fancy events, fucking in their friend's bedrooms—totally an accident, Alexa, soz. That's not what Nick is asking.

Harry searches for something in his face—Nick isn't sure what—before his expression goes determined again.

"I mean it," Harry says. "I wouldn't be here if I didn't. You get that, right? I've been thinking about it for so long. I'm going to stay this time. I promise, Nick. You said you trusted me, right? I didn't promise last time."

"I sort of thought you did," Nick says. He thought it was implied. They were together. They had talked about not seeing anyone else, not seriously, and not fucking anyone else while Harry was in town. Harry was going to stay. He wasn't going to be there all the time, but he was going to _stay_.

"But I didn't _say_ it," Harry presses. "I wanted to, even back then. I was just too scared. I'm so sorry, Nick. But I'm going to say it now. I'm going to stay as long as you'll have me. It's a promise."

The scared part of Nick wants to point out that it's sort of ridiculous to promise that. But that's not really the point, is it.

Nick's never been the best at communication, but he gets that it's important they're actually _talking_ about this now, like Harry said. That neither of them are hiding from it. They did well, back then, they almost got it, tentatively setting boundaries for their relationship. Nick's still sure that actually _staying_ in the relationship was something that was a given, or at least leaving would be _announced_. But he also gets that Harry wasn't there yet, at that level. 

And maybe Nick wasn't either, really. He'd thought he was, but he could have tried harder. Could have not let Harry slip away without trying to get him back. Harry avoided his texts, at first. Nick could have called. He didn't. Maybe he was a bit fucked up, too.

The fact that they're talking about it now is important. It makes a difference.

"Okay," he says. "I'm sorry, fuck. I think I'm going to need to hear that for a bit until it sinks in." He laughs nervously. "But I trust you."

Harry looks sad, but he darts in and presses a kiss to Nick's mouth, the corner of it, Nick's cheek.

"I'm sorry," Harry says. "I'm sorry I hurt you. I never wanted to."

"I know," Nick says, tangling his fingers in Harry's curls.

"No," Harry says. "I really—Nick, you know I'd never hurt you on purpose, right?"

"Oh, Hazza." Nick presses another kiss to his forehead. "Of course I know that."

"What can I do? To prove it?"

"Harry, you—"

"Just tell me," Harry interrupts him softly. "Please."

Nick shakes his head. "You don't have to do anything. Just be here. Come back. That's it."

"I can do that," Harry says, and his mouth curls up into a smile again. "I'll do that. You'll see. You won't get rid of me."

Nick laughs. "Have never really been able to before, have I?"

Harry's brow furrows, but he just sighs and leans in for another kiss.

"Hey," he asks, pulling back quickly before Nick has a chance to respond. "Can I apologise with sexual favours?"

"No," Nick says. "And stop saying sorry, you're giving me a complex."

Harry huffs and leans back in. This time Nick stops him, hand to his chest. "Honestly. You don't have to keep apologising, love. You already did. I know you're sorry. And I could have brought it up myself, talk to you about it earlier."

"But I fucked it up," Harry says. "I hurt you." He sounds absolutely torn up about it.

"It was a while ago," Nick says. "I get that you were scared. It's sort of making me uncomfortable, you saying sorry so much. I don't know what to say. I don't need to hear that. Just need to know you want to be here."

"I do," Harry says immediately. "Of course I do."

Nick nods and goes on, because he really needs Harry to get it. "And, like, this isn't something I'm going to use as a thing later, you know? Like when your parents bring up something that happened ages ago to win a stupid argument. I'm not going to hold this against you, Harry. We all fuck up, right? You're fine, love."

Harry blinks at him, surprised. Nick's honestly a little surprised himself. He just knows he doesn't want Harry to feel like he has to beg for Nick's forgiveness, not when Nick gave it ages ago. It happened. It hurt. Harry's older now. Harry's here now. Besides, Nick's not entirely sure he was completely blameless. There must have been something he could have done to keep Harry from leaving, some secret trick. But it doesn't matter anymore.

Nick feels like _such_ an adult.

"Okay," Harry says slowly. "No more apologising?"

"Yes," Nick says decisively. "We're moving past it. Super adult, like. Also, I've fucked up in the past when it comes to us, too, so I'm sorry too."

Harry sighs. "Okay. Yeah."

"You could apologise for the jumper, though. Was one of my best jumpers. All stretched out now, probably."

"Hey," Harry protests, pouting. He's suddenly wilting, his eyelids drooping. Nick isn't sure what time it is, but it must be quite late. He had plans for tomorrow afternoon. Maybe he can cancel. Whatever, he'll worry about it in the morning.

"Hey," he echoes, nudging Harry's hand with his knuckles. "Bed."

Harry smiles slowly. "Bed?"

"Sleep," Nick says. "You're dead on your feet."

"'M not on my feet," Harry points out.

Nick shakes his head and stands up, pulling Harry with him. "I'm absolutely knackered, love. You can fuck me in the morning."

Harry makes a pleased little noise and wraps himself around Nick, octopus style. It makes it harder to move, but Nick honestly doesn't mind at the moment. He's feeling strangely hollow and fragile and like he wants to hide his face against Harry's belly and stay there for a while. It's not a feeling he gets very often. Or hardly ever.

He also feels sort of terrifyingly in love, which is something he _has_ gotten used to over the past few years, so.

He walks them both into the bedroom, Harry clinging to him and only barely managing to shuffle along. It's hard to get Harry to let go of him when they reach the bed; he's already half asleep, but his grip on Nick is strong. Nick sometimes forgets how quickly and in how many different situations Harry can fall asleep.

He manages to pry his fingers loose from Nick's shirt, though, and carefully drops him on the bed. Harry immediately shuffles over to his usual side and sprawls out there. Nick knows he'll only stay like that until Nick joins him on the bed, at which point Harry will curl up around him, all long limbs and smothering heat.

Nick should help him get out of his clothes at least; Harry hates sleeping with his jeans on. Or with anything on, really. He always wakes up crabby in the middle of the night it he falls asleep in clothes he can't simply wriggle out of.

Nick breathes and stares at Harry for a moment, struck by how he _knows_ this. There are so many things he's collected over the years without realising. It's scary, sometimes, how much Harry means to him. It's really bloody scary to think Nick could lose him again. To think _he_ could fuck it up this time, because fucking _anything_ could happen.

Harry snuffles and turns on his side, hair falling over his face. He reaches out for Nick's side of the bed. Nick literally feels his heart clench. It can't _really_ be his heart, probably, but that's what it bloody feels like.

Because, the thing is, Harry left before, but Nick never truly lost him. 

When it's the middle of the night and Harry's in his bed and Nick remembers how he has a rose crystal in the corner of his bedroom and all of Harry's gifts scattered around the house, Nick feels like they could never truly lose sight of each other. It's really fucking soppy, but Nick's gotten used to that, too. He's soppy about Harry. Always has been, really.

"Nick?" Harry mumbles, blinking over at where Nick's still standing at the edge of the bed. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Nick says softly. "Nothing's wrong." He takes off his trousers and climbs into bed; kisses Harry before helping him out of his jeans. Well, mostly he does all the work; Harry just hums quietly and lifts his arse when Nick pokes him.

"You going to keep the jumper?" Nick asks, brushing Harry's hair back. "You're going to melt. And then I'm going to melt."

"It's comfy," Harry says, and kisses Nick's wrist before turning again and burying his face in the pillow.

"Right then," Nick says. He's absolutely exhausted, but for some reason the thought of going to sleep seems ridiculous. He's overwhelmed, a bit, maybe. Overtired.

"Nick," Harry says, and reaches out to tug on his shirt. "Sleep now. Come on."

"Right," Nick says again, and lies down, fitting himself behind Harry. He throws his arm over Harry's waist. Harry's hair tickles his nose, slightly annoying, but strangely _right_. They don't usually fall asleep like this. It's Harry who curls up around Nick. Nick _never_ initiates cuddling in bed. It's an occasion.

Harry lets out a deep breath and clumsily covers Nick's hand with his. "Love you."

"Yeah," Nick says. His stomach feels warm. He feels warm, not tense and awful and sad like before. "Me too."

"'M gonna stay," Harry mumbles.

Nick believes him. God, he really, really does.

"Hey," he says. "I had lunch plans with Daisy tomorrow. You coming?"

"Course," Harry says, squeezing Nick's hand. He's asleep the next minute, snoring. Nick closes his eyes.

He wakes up early in the morning—far too early for a Sunday—to Harry twisting away from him. He waits for panic to kick in, but all he feels is sleepy and hot and slightly confused. "What's happening?"

"Nothing," Harry says. He's shuffling around, and finally Nick figures out that he's pulling off his jumper. Or trying to, at least.

"Stuck?" Nick teases.

"Shut up," comes Harry's muffled voice. "Go back to sleep."

"Need help?"

There's a pause. "Maybe."

Nick sighs and pushes himself up, and turns the light on. Harry's managed to really get stuck, his arms all twisted around. Nick tugs the jumper up and off him, and Harry emerges, his hair an absolute mess and face flushed. His eyes settle on Nick and he smiles, bright and just a bit sleepy.

"Hey," he says, and pulls Nick into a kiss. His mouth tastes foul, and Nick doesn't care at _all_. He pulls Harry down on top of him, wrapping his arms securely around his waist. Harry makes a happy noise, and deepens the kiss. Nick's already thinking about whether he can tempt Harry into a blowjob later, his hand travelling towards Harry's cock, when Harry's mouth slips off his and ends up against Nick's neck instead. He snuffles again, and his breathing's gone deep and regular. He's fallen _asleep_.

"You're joking," Nick says. Harry snores.

Nick shakes his head and gently pushes Harry off him. He's already overheating. Harry makes a wounded little noise and snuggles into Nick's side.

Nick doesn't even try to fight his smile. He brushes his hand over Harry's hair, soothing, and closes his eyes. Later, then.

They have time.


End file.
